11½ hours

Oy, such a day at the shop! Heavy lifting in the back room all morning (my spine's gonna remember it tomorrow), and then standing on my feet flyering all afternoon and evening. Stevi wanted to send me home at 4:30, because I'd worked eight hours and everything after that is time and a half. That's the law.

I was just getting warmed up, though, in good spirits and enjoying my sidewalk duty, and I need the money, so I told her, "My wage is $5 an hour. It says so right on my flyer, and I never asked for a raise."

Stevi thinks I'm nuts, I think, but she shrugged and said, "If you want to keep standing out there, keep standing out there." I kept standing out there for a few hours more, at $5 an hour. She gave me a nice tip, though — paid me for 13 hours, when I'd only worked 11½.

♦ ♦ ♦

I'm really glad I stayed, too. You never know who's going to come walking along on the sidewalk, and today I saw Penelope, a cute & tubby woman who temped at Macy's for a few months last summer, and then got dumped in one of their periodic purges. 

"Doug!" she said, "Did you get laid off at Macy's?" 

"Nope, I laid myself off. Gave them no notice, too — and look at me now!" and I twirled in my ridiculous green cape, and handed her one of the shop's flyers. 

She laughed, and I thought about asking her out, but I didn't and then she said "See ya," and she was gone. It was just like old times, when we worked together and I thought about asking her out, and never did.

Well, probably Penelope would've said no. Or if she'd said yes, probably a date would've been a disaster. Probably, I'm an idiot.

From Pathetic Life #10
Wednesday, March 29, 1995

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

Pathetic Life 

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